Saturday 19th March 2011

Pretzels look like twisted hearts covered in sweet sticky syrup. Sometimes bitter when covered in salt, sometimes sweet when covered in sugar, dark and sweet when covered in chocolate but twisted nonetheless.

I’ve never been a fan of pretzels, nor twisted hearts, because I’ve only ever tasted the ones covered in salt, I’ve never had the pleasure of indulging in a sweet pretzel.

You do get used to the taste of the salted and dried pretzels but you get to a point where you stop eating. You forget about the pretzel, what it tastes like, the scent, the texture, every single part of the pretzel becomes non existent in your taste memory, you only remember holding it in your hand and seeing it covered in those mahoosive rocks of salt, which require you to drink a gallon of water after each packet to rehydrate because every single pretzel in the packet is covered in gigantic rocks of salt.

Would you prefer another packet of Pretzels, one which hasn’t been open to invasion by the atmosphere, a closed tightly sealed packet, or a different flavour perhaps…

What happens when you’re in the midst of a sweetened pretzel?

Will you test the pretzel flavour placing it on the tip of your tongue, or shove the whole pretzel into your mouth and wait for the surprise?
Will you gamble all you fear on buying that lottery ticket for the chance of having a winning ticket?

How can you differentiate a twisted bitter heart from a pretzel when there’s no comparison, didn’t you say that you forgot what a pretzel looked, tasted, felt and smelt like, surely you wouldn’t be able to tell the difference?

How on earth could you compare a pretzel to a heart, how do you even remember the word pretzel and not have any idea of its associated images?

There are so many inconsistencies in your statements.

Story of my life…

Pretzels – twisted and bittersweet: broken, repaired, recovering, shattered, tarnished, mending, healing, sweet, warm, cold, lustful, loving, nurturing, bright, heavy, light, sour, misused, heartless

Friday 25th March 2011

The sun still shines after the darkest night, even after the darkest of grey clouds obstructs its view, its there in the midst of a storm shining bright, illuminating the path of life.

The sun still shines in the clear blue sky, on the brightest of days, when my mood is contrary to the weather, the sun shines brightly whilst I remain inside.

I don’t want to smile, I want to lay here in this duvet, wrapped in my own melancholy for a while.

I don’t want to climb out of my duvet, to glance out of the window to see the sights, I wish it was night time, I can’t seem to hide from the light.

Away from the sun I prefer to hide, today I feel like I’m hollow inside.

The sky outside of my window is bright, I feel like a stranger to the light, so I squint my eyes.

I can’t stop it from happening, revelations are bright, time to get out of this duvet and open my eyes to the light.

The sun still shines.

Sometimes we hold the power in our hands but we’re afraid to use it. Imagine that you have a set of superpowers but you’re scared to use it because with great power comes even greater responsibility.

Use the force to inspire change in the hearts and minds of others. Use your skills to carve a clear route through the impermeable present to a bright future.

Sitting beneath that dark cloud from to day has got you trapped within a set of self inflicted woes. Transform your mindset from victim to victor.

As you stand on that cliff edge with nothing but an abyss of possibility ahead of you and an orchard of woes behind you, what will you do?

There’s no parachute, rescue helicopter or absail, allow your wits to become your wings and fly.

3,2,1 jump…

Sunday 16th January 2023, 10:47am

Bismillah
What I say when I start my ayah
Showing praise to my creator
I’m grateful, words inspire
All praise is due to Allah
I show gratitude in my ayah
I don’t ask Allah is provider
Protector, teacher and guider
Bismillah ar-raheim ar-Rahman

Islam reflects what’s in nature
Which helps me understand creator
All praise is due to Allah
Bismillah ar-raheim ar-Rahman
The way I open my ayah
I’m grateful for my creator
Seek guidance in holy Quran
It flows so I fill up my cup.

Shortlands to Victoria station (Friday 1st March 2024, 11:12)

At the intersection of want and need
My career feels like stand still,
A process testing my patience and will
No matter how fast I run
I’m standing still…
Career on treadmill.

Interval sprints, start and stopping
Accelerating and slowing
Hanging on to what feels like an empty promise
I made to myself
I’ve just been grafting catching Ls
Setbacks and Lessons
As time goes by and I lose track of myself
I feel like I’ve failed.

Yo fam, What’s good, what’s popping?
When’s the new ting dropping?
I don’t when cah I ain’t been creating
Recording or writing
I’ve been swept away tryna get promoted
Inspiration ain’t been arriving…
As regular as I’ve wanted
Can’t say I ain’t had time,
I just ain’t been focused on creating.
I ain’t been disciplined
I haven’t been intentional with what I’ve done
Too much experimental creating whilst streaming
I went offline to align my feelings
Now I’m on this train
Journaling what’s in my brain
In the aftermath of feeling like
I’ve wasted a thousand days

(Amazing how much life can change in a year)

October 20 2010, 7:09 AM

Here’s a preview of a project I’m working on called The Island. 

It’s an ode which is:

A lyric poem in the form of an address to a particular subject, often elevated in style or manner and written in varied or irregular meter.

Oxford Dictionary of English

I’m really trying to push boundaries in regards to my writing style. I believe that there’s so much more to the use of language over music than just ‘spitting’ sixteen ‘bars’. I set out to paint very descriptive pictures and bring back a form of personal indulgement not seen in popular music since the times of old.

Why should I confine myself to a box like the others, why can’t I become an alternative multifaceted popstar respected for my craft rather than all the smoke and mirrors that surround it?

This is art, this is pure emotion and literary prowess. This is me challenging myself as well as sharpening my skills, whilst bringing back the ways of old in the process.

This is me taking advantage of all the tools at my disposal to convey my art in every impossible dimension, so the audience feel all perspectives in order to stimulate their senses.

Imagine if William Shakespeare lived in the 21st century, what would he do?

Peace and Love

Khalid Omari

A few nights ago I got round to recording an underrated and significant piece of poetry I wrote in 2017 after a random encounter one Wednesday morning. It would be years until I understood the phenomena or even revisited the piece to structure or make sense of it. The app I wrote it on doesn’t’t provide an audit trail annoyingly so I couldn’t see when I started to make the edits. As you’ll come to learn about me depending on how long you’ve been following what I’ve been doing is that I love an audit trail because time and date carries as much significance as the pice itself. It’s how I reflect back and know exactly how and what I was feeling at a specific date and time.

I recorded the poetry into Logic Pro X to no backing track at all and managed to narrate it from my external monitor which display it much bigger, thankfully, than the days of old when I used to do it from my actual MacBook. The great thing about nowadays is that I can split the screen between LPX and Pages to really record and narrate at one time.

At the moment of posting I haven’t taken any photos of my live stream setup but over a course of time I’ll keep you updated with how it unfolds. The way my desk is organised it definitely does make it easier however I feel like the arrival of MacOS Monterrey will likely make it easier to control the stream as for something like OBS can be pushed to my iPad Air but then again why don’t I just use Sidecar?

Maybe I need to test it out from a response perspective to be able to check comments and viewers whilst streaming. Also I can’t benefit from MacOS updates straight away as I’ve got to wait until the manufacturers of my equipment release firmware updates that are compatible first and even then I’ve still got to be wary. This was the case after upgrading to Big Sur. My MacBook Pro still crashes randomly when loading particular Maschine files which is sometimes a major nightmare when trying to work. What you will found in this stream is that it kinda happens with LPX when loading up You Remind Me file as the Splendid riddim is access via the Akai MPC Live 2 being in controller mode with the file stored on its SSD drive that I recently installed.

I know some of the above may sound like gobberdy goop to the unfamiliar eye but its all relative to the process hence why its been documented in blog form. Anyway… without further adieu here’s You Remind Me from a collection of pieces entitled Internal Affairs that may feature on Rhythm & Prose: 1012BC. The video of the stream is also available to watch below too via the embed.

Stay up to date with future broadcasts by following me on Twitch and YouTube.

25th March 2017, 1015

You remind me of someone I once knew.

I think it’s the way your sunglasses are resting at top of your head as if they are some kind of tiara or hair band, holding your long dark hair with blond streaks running through it from covering your deep brown eyes that tell an eternity of stories.

You speak with the same linguistic flow and cadence as the person I once knew, poetic and soothing as the sound of the majestic Iguazú falls.

You remind me of her.

Similar genetic and cultural DNA, chilled and laid back sensibility, an air of having no care in the world, an island retreat and paradise.

Unlike Odysseus’ saga on Ogygia with the nymph Calypso, our stillness in time was but a moment. A grain of sand that seemed to take forever to fall through the portal from the top of the hourglass to the pile of grains at the bottom.

You remind me of someone who I dedicated verse after verse to.

Manuscripts manifested from a collection of thoughts.

Up late at night riding spiralling free writing trains of thought in a feeble attempt to descramble my brain. I ride this bus in the hope that writing it all down allows me to remove the remnants of you.

You remind me of the love I once chased as if I were the soda trying to mix with a concentrated and refined taste that burns the heart seconds after the initial sip had passed through my lips, meandering through the grooves of my tongue, flowing down the dark unchartered throatal abyss to leave a bitter taste in my mouth if left for too long between sips.

Madting.

Monday, 27th May 2020, 1826

I’m done with black people getting murdered on camera

I’m done with the voyeurism that goes with it

I’m done with the tribute memes.
I’m done with the complacency surrounding the mistreatment of black people and lack of acknowledgement for our never-ending struggle.
I’m done with explaining why I’m done with it and making you feel more comfortable by not speaking about it.

I’m done with always having a few effs for your feelings
I’m done with you misunderstanding my passion for frustration and aggression when discussing things

I’m done with you never actively researching the significance of it.
I’m done with diluting the message.
I’m done with code switching
I’m done with assimilating

I’m done with not speaking in vernacular because you deem it unprofessional.
I’m done with translating
I’m done with validating

I’m done because I can’t keep having the same conversations about why this happens again and again
I’m done because I’m exhausted

I’m done because I’m at the end of my tether

I’m done because I have zero eff coins to place into the machine and continue to play this perpetual game of injustice and outrage.
I am done.

No amount of protests will create change quick enough for us to bask in the light of our liberation

No amount of memes, screenshots, infographics and tweets could ever replace much needed dialogue to understand how the actions of an invisible enemy continue to keep us under the standard of life and basic privilege enjoyed by our counterparts.
No amount of apologies or public displays of acknowledgement to the current injustice will satisfy my thirst for liberation and equality.

Where was your interest when we were getting stopped and searched at record rates?

Where was your concern when we were being told to go back to our own country?
Where were your concerns during the Brexit rhetoric or the Windrush Scandal where they tried to deport those of us who re-built your not so Great Britain and weakened post World War Two economy?
We accepted a call to action to save the day by sending all our skilled workers to re-energise your manufacturing and transport industry, and also your beloved NHS.

When you’re out there banging your pots and pans

Will you spare a thought for the black Doctors and Nurses who came to help your sick great grandparents who refused their treatment as they didn’t want to get touched by black hands?

When you’re out there banging your pots and pans

Will you be doing so for the black transport, sanitary and hospitality workers who keep this country running
Alongside a whole host of internationals that you so despise but aren’t sure…

Why?
We accepted an invitation to leave the sunshine for the cold, dreary streets.
We gave you our cuisine and culture, in return you denied us our credit.

I’m done with suppressing how I feel

I’m done with baring my soul and hearing your guilt

I’m done with hearing you make this all about you

I’m done with hearing you deflect the issue

I’m done.
I’m done.
I’m done.

I’m done.

Until we rise up and meet injustice with collective and focused action against the oppressor

Until we stop begging for a seat at the table and the respect we deserve

Until we are actively educating our youth in the undiluted and vast history of our ancestors

Until dominant society stop co-opting slogans and signals for corporate gain

Until politicians and public figures stop virtual signalling

Until society refuses to face the hard inconvenient truth and reeducate yourselves on your chequered history of exploitation, genocide and inferiority rhetoric…
I’m done.

Don’t engage me in conversation if all you’re going to do is gawk at my pain for your voyeuristic fetishes.
Don’t invite me to your panel discussions

Don’t invite me to the unveiling of token gestures

All invitations are hereby declined.

I don’t know whether you realise that this isn’t just a moment.

I don’t know whether you realise that this isn’t just some raise your profile opportunity.

I don’t know whether you actually realise that I’d never take you seriously.

You will not and will never understand it fully.
I’m done with white supremacy.

Cogitation Pt.2 available as eBook and Audio

I’ve got a healthy obsession for change.

It’s all I can think about.

It’s building my rocket ship to takeoff.

It’s exercising patience to have enough fuel to complete the journey.

It’s mapping a route through asteroid belts and allowing the gravitational pull between the planet and the moon to propel the trip.

Speed isn’t the issue, it’s focus, determination and dedication to see it through to the end.

It’s balancing all the resources to cover the trip and keep us alive once we arrive and sow our seeds to reap the benefits of the first harvest.

It’s a punt into the unknown, it’s a bet on our future, it’s not so much about colonisation but discovery, it’s wondering what life is like outside.

This healthy obsession of mine is what happens when you’ve run out of tolerance for everything around you; the noises, the voices, the personalities, the conflicts, the forever retreating into the confines of your padded cell to shut yourself off from all the distortion, getting caught in a sinking sandpit of toxicity.

It’s my last ditch attempt at sanity and having peace of mind.

I want to leave, I have to leave, I’ve outgrown what life is here.

I’ve outgrown the conflicts, the battles, remaining impartial in such a toxic environment, living in a shack on the no mans land between three fronts.

I’ve endured much.

I may not say it but on the inside I’m deteriorating.

I’ve reached the point where I can no longer retreat inwards, I’ve completely shutdown to the point where I can no longer muster or string together a sentence.

I’m done.

I need to get out of this sunken place as I’m no longer comfortable here.

Home is no longer where my heart is, my heart and mind seek inner peace elsewhere; a quieter and peaceful place, far away from all I’ve ever known.

I guess my healthy obsession is about finding a new place to call home, which I can comfortably call my own.

A place where I can be myself, sow my seeds and reap the rewards of my hard work.

On an expedition of inner peace and self discovery you don’t tend to miss the old you, environment or what once was.

Nostalgia neither comforts or consoles but plays a part in your own demise as you feel comfortable to the point where you can box yourself in behind the illusion of high walls constructed by your hyperreal memories which select which bits they choose to play back to you and the bits that didn’t reach the edit are too hurtful to relive.

They weren’t really your mates, they didn’t have your best interests at heart, they didn’t even consider you when they acted, it was all done for self through counterfeit motives so don’t even feel bad for disappearing, just do you and do what’s best for you.

Pour your energy and resources into your relationship, future life and stay adulting.

All set to go?

Yes.

Destination locked, loaded and focused?

Yes.

Alright let’s do this, time to take off.

Apple Music | Spotify | Tidal

I tried to tell you about it from the jump. I gave you hints that were littered throughout the content, hidden behind the allegory and metaphors but as always you opted to remain on the surface rather than dig a little deeper.

I’m not trying to push you off the ledge into the depths of the Mariana Trench or into The Devils Tunnel in the nether regions of Siberia, I’m just trying to give you a heads up.

This thing that we find ourselves apart of is an illusion.

We aren’t anything but a number, a piece of data, a username, IP address, a portal locked on, soldered and logged into a matrix where we exchange one of the most precious gifts; our time and energy, for a pittance.

We’ve been taught to believe that we should be grateful for what we’re given but if we see our time as the most priceless and precious thing, we’d covet and protect it more than we did our money and possessions.

Time doesn’t stop, it goes as fast or as slow as you want and you have the freedom to invest your time wherever you like.

To confine yourself to one place or a repeated circumstance being stagnant should be a criminal offence.

Stay on the move.

If not the body, the soul and the consciousness.

Physically we may not always be able to go to where we want to go but deep inside the mind we can go and do whatever we wish through imagination.

We think therefore we are, we project therefore we dream, envision and accomplish whatever it is we wish.

Invest your time and energy wisely because the clock don’t stop.

Tick-tock, tick-tock.

[The earth has moved 3,885km in the time you’ve read this blog.]